


Hilt

by rippler3



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bed Sex, Bretons (Elder Scrolls), Cunnilingus, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Smut, Fucked with the hilt of a weapon, Interesting NPCs Mod (Elder Scrolls), Lesbian Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Lesbian Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Sword as dildo, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippler3/pseuds/rippler3
Summary: Apparently being in the mead hall of the Companions has given Amalee a scandalous idea to try with Yleanor. The Dragonborn finds herself surprised, but intrigued... and more than a little excited...
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin/Amalee, Original Female Character/Amalee
Kudos: 15





	Hilt

Yleanor doesn’t see the inside of her home as much as she’d like. Lakeview Manor mostly plays home to a couple of housecarls and the children she’s adopted.

She should probably go see them soon, and check if Sofia’s fox is being housetrained properly. Bloody hell, she still can’t believe she agreed to a pet fox. But that’s for tomorrow. Tonight, she and Amalee are relaxing in her quarters in Jorvasskr. The Harbinger’s room.

The din of the celebrations above are muffled here. Yleanor is pretty sure one of her predecessors had some sort of insulation installed against the noise. She’s grateful.

“At least Lucia’s letter reached us today,” Amalee tells her. She sits down on the bed, her nightgown riding temptingly high on her pale thighs, and reads. ““Ma’s wards are working great. An angry giant came to the house today, but a big dragon made of light flew up and he peed himself before he ran away!””

“’Ma.’” Yleanor chews the word, sprawled naked on the grand bed and eyeing Amalee’s long legs. “Am I a ‘Ma’, Ama?”

“Am I a ‘Mama’, love?” her paramour smiles. “I think with children, sometimes we end up being what they make us.”

Yleanor sighs. She feels her desire rising, and tries vaguely to keep a lid on it for the moment. They haven't made love properly in a few days - camping in the rain has made it hard to do anything more than snuggle up, slipping fingers down each other's breaches to caress. Which is its own kind of exhilarating, especially with the guilty thrill when they know others are sleeping nearby... but it's not a patch on going to bed together, freshly bathed and free to give themselves fully to each other.

She tries to stay on track and makes herself answer the question. “I guess. Say, ride home tomorrow? Inigo has plans, but he can speak for me here and the other three know what they’re doing anyway.”

“I wonder what Skjor would make of our dear blue cat holding his old place in the Circle.”

“Probably he’d grumble, but eventually let it go. Now Ama,” she says as she finally loses patience, “are you coming to bed, or does the Harbinger need to make like a proper Nord warrior?”

Amalee pulls the shocked face she used to make whenever anything sexual came up. Only now she’s doing it as a definite joke. “You mean sweep me up in your strong arms and ravished on the bed? But oh, Harbinger…” She whips off her nightdress in her nightdress in one smooth motion, leaving herself all but naked. “That’s just what I want.”

Yleanor grins, but she raises her eyebrows when she spies the one garment her lover still has on. “Then why have you still got your smallclothes on?”

“You like taking them off.”

“Oh, yes…” Yleanor sits up as Amalee crawls onto the bed, greeting her with tender kisses.

“Praising Dibella in the warriors’ house again?” Amalee’s eyes glitter when she opens them.

Yleanor returns the smile. “I call it praising you. That it pleases Dibella is a… happy accident.”

“Ooh, blasphemer,” Amalee laughs, while Yleanor kisses her way down from her collarbone to a pert nipple. “If you weren’t a gift from the gods, a Dragonborn with dragon’s voice and, _ah_ , a dragon’s tongue.”

Yleanor spirals her tongue around Amalee’s nipples in turn, softly kneading her breasts and drinking in the gasps she provokes. Casting her eyes downwards, she sees the damp patch on Amalee’s smallclothes. “And you want that tongue on your sweet cunny, don’t you?”

“Yes,” pants Amalee, kneeling up. Yleanor eagerly pulls Amalee’s smallclothes down, exposing the soft brown thatch of hair which crowns her sex. She shudders at the heat which pools in her own cunt at the mere sight, and barely notices as Amalee kicks the smallclothes away. "But you're gonna get mine first."

Amalee’s eager, taking control and pushing Yleanor back onto the sheets. A trail of kisses from Yleanor’s knee to her mound, lingering on the spread of coppery hair, is her sole concession to a build-up. It escalates to quick kisses down over her hooded clit, where Amalee begins to work swift, soft magic with her tongue.

“Ah,” she whispers. “Gods, you’re hungry tonight.”

So hungry that she doesn’t even say anything. Amalee moves her mouth to Yleanor’s opening and sets fire to her with her tongue. Somehow it brings up the voice of the Jarl, talking about wells and dragons attacks. You need a lot of the wet stuff around when a fire breaks out... was that what he said? Either way, Yleanor’s body thinks so, and when Amalee raises her face to beam at her, her lips glisten with slick.

"Dibella's sopping fingers, you're beautiful." Yleanor pulls Amalee towards her, kissing her fiercely, her tongue delving for the taste of herself… and still, Amalee is consumed with the need to pleasure her. Fingers slip into her cunt, Amalee’s thumb settles on her clit and everything Yleanor is might as well be held in her hand.

The gentle tug of Amalee’s mouth on her nipple takes Yleanor over. Her climax comes surging up to set her jolting and whimpering, soaking Amalee’s hand.

Amalee kisses her again, giggling at the way Yleanor surges up at her. “Oh, you want more, don’t you?” Her tone tells Yleanor that it’s not really a question.

“I… don’t know if I can…”

Again, Amalee already knows. “Mm hmm, you’re too hot and sensitive for fingers. But I know I need to give you more. So how about… a sword?”

Bewilderment cuts through Yleanor’s desire. “I fucking _beg_ your pardon?”

“Well…” Amalee strokes her cheek. “I take one of our swords…” She puts her mouth right next to Yleanor’s ear and gives her a stagey whisper. “…and I ravish you with it.”

All Yleanor can do is laugh. “You little minx. What happened to the blushing maid I met under the Gildergleam?”

“Another blushing maid,” Amalee smiles. “But you’d know all about that.” She raises herself up a little, her small breasts dangling enticingly. “If you must know, there was a lewd sketch book tucked away in a corner of the College library. I found one which was… intriguing.”

Yleanor kisses her. “And count me intrigued too.”

They both look over at their scabbarded swords, lying on the dresser.

“Yours, or mine?”

“Let’s say mine,” Amalee decides. “Elven quicksilver’s warmer to the touch than Skyforge Steel.”

Yleanor quirks an eyebrow. “Really? I never noticed.”

“Oh yes. Some Nords think it makes Elven metalwork tricksy. There’s a saying, something about winter being true and summer fickle.”

Yleanor shakes her head. “That sounds like Nords all right. But as we’re both Bretons, I agree. I’ll take tricksy summer over winter when it comes to putting things in my cunt… Ama, you can’t blush at me saying that! This was your idea!”

Amalee goes even redder as she laughs, before she goes to the dresser. “Then get on your hands and knees so you can’t see.”

Yleanor swallows her wicked humour and obeys. She reluctantly tears her eyes away from Amalee’s slender buttocks, putting her hands against the headboard and spreading her legs. Her little fireplace, as Ama likes to call it, is exposed, and her lover barely holds back for a second.

There’s a garnet caged in the hilt of Amalee’s sword, which Yleanor smoothed to an oval when she forged the sword for her then friend, now lover. Yleanor draws a shuddering breath, feeling the pommel hard and cool – but not unpleasantly so – against her vulva. Amalee gently strokes down her spine.

She pauses for a moment, at Yleanor’s threshold. “Ready, my love?”

“Yes,” she breathes, before moaning as the elven metal slips in between the folds, slowly filling her.

She finds herself absurdly sensitive, able to feel every last ridge of the grip. All the more so when Amalee twists the sword experimentally. Yleanor groans in satisfaction at that.

“You like that?”

“Gods, I do.”

Amalee beams, so guileless that it’s almost funny in this context, and finds her rhythm, sinking the hilt a little deeper in Yleanor’s hole every time.

“Fuck, Ama… you really are a blessing. _Oh_ , that feels so right in my quim.”

Her cunt squeezes tight on the now warm metal, and she lets out a long moan as Amalee twists it harder, and the pommel rubs against the rough patch deep inside her.

She thrusts up with her hips, her arse leaving the sheets as she drives herself against the crossguard and feels the hilt bottom out inside her.

The wave of pleasure makes her go rigid, a long, low moan escaping her and slick pouring from her. Then she flops back onto the sheets, moaning as Amalee gently withdraws the hilt and laps up the mess with gentle strokes of her tongue.

“Your turn,” she pants into the pillow. Then she turns to embrace Amalee, hoisting her off the bed a little to drop her on her back. “And we need you nice and wet.”

Eager as she is, she's not in as much of a hurry as Ama. She kisses her throat, then across her breasts before turning her attentions to Amalee's nipples. Sucking and gently smothering them with her tongue, she makes them delectably hard and gets Amalee whispering little pleas to give her more.

Which is all Yleanor wants to do anyway, and show she kisses swiftly down her slender stomach. Prising Amalee’s thighs apart, she finds that their swordplay, coupled with the ministrations of her mouth, has already excited her lover a great deal. Her furled pink lips glisten, and with her first licks Yleanor seeks and savours the wetness. Amalee whimpers a little when Yleanor flicks her tongue over her clit, and again when her fingers delve into the hot, wet mess of her slit.

Licking and kissing around her gently thrusting fingers, she soon brings Amalee to a juddering little orgasm.

“Too, too easy, sweetling. Now,” she says, reaching for the sword. “Let’s try your new trick on you, Ama.”

She cradles Amalee, savouring the view of her full, naked front as she guides the pommel to her sopping apex. The garnet gleams especially bright, glossy with slick, and Amalee closes her eyes with pleasure as Yleanor first rubs it against her folds and then… slips it in.

“Gods, it’s so warm from your quim. _Oh_ …” Her breasts heave as her head tips back. “It’s wonderful, Yleanor.”

Yleanor says nothing, focused on sinking the hilt further and further into Amalee’s cunt. Then she begins to make slow, firm thrusts, eliciting a deep moan with the first few.

It’s a sight she’s never seen before, the way the hilt stretches Amalee’s yielding lips, showing her glorious pinkness under the soft brown bush. That hair is already sopping wet, and slick soon gathers on the crossguard to wet Yleanor’s fingers too.

“It’s a greedy little cunt you’ve got,” she grins at her panting lover. “You like having it all inside you, don’t you?” Amalee can’t even make words, simply mewling, but her shaky nod and wide eyes say everything.

Yleanor draws herself up and shifts to kneel between her lover's legs. Instinct has her laying her other hand on Amalee’s mound to press gently but firmly, to add to her pleasure. She can feel – oh gods, she can feel how the hilt is stretching her lover’s cunt under her palm, and immediately she finds herself wetter.

Amalee whimpers, turning soft eyes and a pleading expression on Yleanor. Yleanor leans in, and Amalee sits up to kiss her, little whimpers still streaming from between her lips. With their lips touching, Yleanor’s thumb brushes against her lover’s clit, then begins to circle and tips Amalee into stuttering gasps.

A trembling hand cups Yleanor’s cheek, shaking more and more with the rest of Amalee as her moans pick up, higher and higher until she goes silent. Then her orgasm takes her in a series of little yelps, her breasts shaking with each cry.

Yleanor eases her down with slow, gentle strokes, fucking her into a rosy afterglow. When she’s sure Amalee’s had enough, she withdraws the hilt and sets the sword on the sheets, kissing her lover’s pink-red folds. Then she’s crawling over to embrace Amalee, being taken herself in long slender arms, and they’re falling into the afterglow together.


End file.
